


Ilse's Journal

by SilverEyedRaven



Series: Journals [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diary/Journal, Freeform, Multi, OC's - Freeform, Past Torture, RP that got way out of hand and is now a fanfic, Rabies, Trans Representation, queer representation, spies au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverEyedRaven/pseuds/SilverEyedRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isn't it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess what the writing on them will be.”<br/>― Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy in Spite of Herself</p>
<p>As much as people hate to admit it, life goes on. And sometimes, the best way you can hold on is to record it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 6th - June 30th

**Author's Note:**

> this was an rp that got wayyy out of hand and became whatever this is  
> im kinda proud of it tbh

                 June 6th -

                A new kid joined our squad today. Hazel eyes, dirty blonde hair, about eight inches taller than me, and rarely speaks. He’s too young. I talked to our commander about it, he told me that he’s 21. “Stop being so paranoid Langnar,” He said. “Show him the ropes. You’re all adults. I wouldn’t let him in without proper training.” The commander is lying. He can’t be more than eighteen. Kid introduced himself as “Farlan Church”. He’s scrawny, when we got changed I could count his ribs, despite the fact that he said he’s been working for Survey for three years. He looks, talks, and acts like a street kid. Doesn’t trust any of us, and eats his food just a bit too fast.

                He’s in the bunk above mine, and I can hear him mumbling in his sleep. Something about two people- Isabel and Levi.

                Chase is saying “shut the damn lamp off, Langar, you’re keeping us all up.” Church is asleep, and I can hear Smith snoring, so I doubt that’s the case. Nonetheless, lights-out was twenty minutes ago. Update in four days.

 

                June 10th –

                We’re being shipped out again in eight days. I can hear Chase crying in the bunk next to mine. He’s been here as long as I have been, and the stress and horror and fear has hit him a lot harder than he’s let on. I give Brown five minutes before her maternal instincts kick in and she climbs down to calm him.

                Church is damn good at the obstacle course. He beat my time by a good ten seconds, and I’ve held record for a year now. His upper body strength is incredible, despite the fact that he’s all bones. He also managed to knock Smith flat on her ass during hand to hand combat, and as long as I’ve known her, no one’s ever been able to do that. She’s a little miffed about it, actually.

 He still hasn’t shared anything about himself with us. We all know things about each other- Smith has got a girlfriend back at home, and she writes to her every night. Chase’s little brother just left the hospital after being in a coma for a month from a hit and run. Mason and Brown have pet snakes. Petonson’s mother just got engaged to a millionaire. Cootes’s boyfriend raises horses. Backman’s family owns a small convenience store that he’s going to run with his wife when he gets back home. They all know about my Mom’s divorce. Church doesn’t write home to anyone, doesn’t talk about anyone (or to anyone, for that matter, unless it’s to fire a fast ‘fuck you’ at whoever has insulted him), and from what I gather he doesn’t have any pets back home. Hell, I don’t even know where home is for him. All I know about him is based on body language, expressions, glimpses of his scars, guesswork, and what he’s mumbled in his sleep, which has been much less than informative. He’s an introvert, always somewhat angry, bites his fingernails, and three people haunt his dreams; Isabel, Levi, and his big brother. How little we know is fucking infuriating, to put it frankly.

Speaking of his scars, most of them look like they’re leftover from old cuts and maybe some burns, other than what looks to be a bullet wound on his thigh and very fresh looking scars, burns, and some from a blade of some sort marring his sides and ribs with wide, reddish lines. One slashes along his right side between his ribcage and hipbone, puckered, red, and mangled, the other cuts a line down his left side across his ribs, thick and ugly. Cootes tried asking directly about the bullet wound scar and all he got in return was a blink and a shrug. Mason got the same answer when they asked if he had anyone to write home to. We’re trying to be polite, but I can see Cootes getting more impatient daily, and he was never patient to begin with.

Petonson has been complaining to me about it. “We’re going to war with this kid. We’re gonna be risking our lives with him, and if we don’t know a damn thing about him other than a fuckin’ name, how the hell are we supposed to trust him?” I’ve been reassuring her with the facts- he’s great with a gun and very strong, and he didn’t rat Cootes out when he stole extra rations, (he did ask for half, but telling her that wouldn’t help the situation, and besides, the kid needs the extra food anyways) but she’s still nervous. Tensions are running high. I wish they hadn’t thrown him in with us, or at least had given us more time to adjust to his presence. We just need more time.

Update in four days.

 

June 14th –

Four days until we leave.

Backman left two days ago. He’s retired.

Chase was the closest to him. Backman was a father figure to everyone, but more closely to him. He would’ve punched someone if Mason and Church hadn’t pulled him back. He spent the next few minutes yelling. When Church told him to “calm the fuck down” he punched him. Or, he would’ve, if Church hadn’t caught his fist.

“Would it help?” He said. “Would it really, really help you, to punch me?”  He let go of his fist and Chase tried to punch him again, and he grabbed his fist and slammed him into the wall.

“Would. It. Help.” He said. “Answer the question. Would it help the situation at all, you punching me?” then Church let him go. And Chase said no. And he didn’t try to hurt him again. And he stopped yelling. Cootes called him a miracle worker, and he shrugged. That was the most he’s said to any one of us, and he hasn’t spoken since.

We’re all dead tired and angry, and Church is the only one who doesn’t look affected by this at all. He’s almost like a robot. Petonson has been trying to beat his time on the obstacle course and her own score in marksmanship, like she does whenever she gets stressed. Chase and Brown have been beating the shit out of the punching bags. Heights calm Mason, so they’ve been on the ropes course as much as possible.

We’ve been together three years. Most of us were recruited into Survey at the same time, four years back, other than Backman, who was with Survey for ten. He was the oldest, most of us are in our twenties, and he’s almost thirty five. Everyone went to him for advice and comfort, even Brown, and she’s like the mother of our squad. We’ve never been shaken up like this before.

I can hear Church climbing down from his bunk. I think he thinks everyone is asleep, because tonight I’m not using the lamp. Update soo

 

June 6th (later) –

I tailed Church up to the roof. He was standing there looking at the stars for a good ten minutes before I caved and went up to him.

Me: Hello.

He jumped and whirled around to face me.

Church: “Oh. Hey Ilse. You startled me.”

Me: “What are you doing?”

Church: “I’ve never really seen the stars before. I grew up in the city.”

He stayed quiet for a while, staring up at the sky, so I figured I might as well try to find out more about him. I asked what city he grew up in.

Church: “Tristesse, mostly. A few other cities, but mostly Tristesse. What about you?”

Me: “Just outside of New York City.”

Church: “I thought I recognized your accent.”

I was a bit surprised by his talkativeness. But he didn’t talk after that, despite my prodding. He didn’t say goodnight when he went back inside.

Tristesse. A city sixty miles northeast of Wheeling, West Virginia. A city full of crumbling buildings, drug dealers, and thieves. I’ve heard smog fills the skies, the pavement has rifts so deep and wide that you have to jump them, and the water is grey, grimy sludge. I heard Tristesse used to be okay before the Titan War started, but soon fell to despair as the rich people fled to the inner, “safer” cities, such as Wheeling. Not surprising, actually. Tristesse means “sadness” in French. Whoever named the city should’ve done a bit more research.

 I should go to bed. The next few days are going to be hell.

Update in four days.

 

June 10th –

I’m writing this in the back of a van. We’re all in civilian clothes. We’re about to arrive at our new base in London. Brown was named our new squad leader yesterday, in replacement of Backman, a choice I approve of. She’s levelheaded enough to handle the position, and we all trust her. Chase confided in me that he was surprised that the higher-ups didn’t choose Petonson, because “she has the highest scores in marksmanship and a higher IQ than most of us”. I informed him that if they were going on skill and IQ, they would have gone with Church or Mason. He shut up.

I’m glad they didn’t choose Peteonson, despite us being best friends. She has a tendency to work herself and others too hard, and she’s not very understanding of limitations. The only foreseeable problems with Brown is that she might be too soft, or crack under the pressure.

They just handed out our new earbuds. Chase helped Peteonson hold her hair back while she put it in. I’m no expert, but I think he’s developing a crush.

Our old information handler, Selene, has retired. Our new handler introduced himself as Siri. No one laughed at his joke. He’s somewhat huffy now, and his real name is Thomas. I don’t think anyone likes him. Selene might have been cold and impersonal, but at least she got shit done, and didn’t mess around. Church is quietly informing him that these are our lives he’s messing around with, and at the very least he could focus. I’m liking Church a bit more daily. I hope he opens up soon.

Thomas is going over our assignment one last time. We’re infiltrating the drug cartel that’s been supplying money for the Titans, a terrorist cell, and taking it down from the inside and gathering intel on the Titans.

Thomas is speaking again.

“What are all your first names, by the way?”

Cootes: “What? You don’t know our damn names? Don’t you have a file or something?”

Thomas: “’Course I do! But how the hell do I pronounce them? I mean, Langnar, what the hell kind of a name is that? Ellis? Elsa? Lisa?”

Me: “Ill-ese.”

Church: “Far-lan.”

Peteonson: “Jac-inda. Just like it’s fuckin spelled, mate.”

Chase: “Peter. If you need help with that one, get your head checked.”

Cootes: “Asher.”

Mason: “Phoenix.”

Smith: “Kate…”

Brown: “Delilah.”

Thomas starts to sing “Hey there Delilah”. Chase groans. I give Thomas two weeks before his demeanor crumbles under our hatred of him and the strain of the job.

We’ve arrived at our new base. Update tomorrow.

 

June 11th –

Our new base is a hostel just inside of London. We have two people to a room and a bathroom. I got partnered up with Church, Peteonson with Chase, Cootes with Smith, and Brown with Mason.

It turns out Church sings in the shower. He thinks I’m asleep right now, it’s 10:21 pm at the moment. His voice is okay- he cracks on the high notes, but it’s endearing. I didn’t think someone as serious as he would listen to the Pussycat Dolls.

But, damn it, now the song’s gonna be stuck in my head for weeks.

They gave us a day to check out the files on the cartel and get used to our surroundings. Brown’s accent is incredible, you would think she was a native. Our rooms are all nearly identical, white walls, two beds, two desks, and a lamp between them.

Church’s personal items were very sparse- a few shells and a book, _Where the Red Fern Grows_. I’ve got my journal, a locket, a few framed photos of my mother and my father and I, and candles- which I’m not allowed to light. I’ve taken the batteries out of the smoke detector though, so if I light one no one will know other than Church, and I don’t think he’ll mind.

I saw Church put something in his drawer earlier. I don’t like to snoop, but honestly, knowing so little about him is making me nervous. I really want to see what it is. This is the only time I’ll look into his personal items, I swear.

Its pictures, the kind you get out of a photo booth. They’re from about two years ago, I guess. They’re of him, a redheaded chick with big green eyes and dark skin, and someone with long black hair and pale skin. The person looks like a vampire and is much shorter than all of them. The redhead has the ends of her hair dyed a bright teal. They look like a family almost, laughing at each other in all of the photos, faux punches being thrown about. Church looks happy. They all do. He has a nice smile. I hope he’ll use it more often.

The shower just turned off.

Update in two days.

 

June 13th –

I’ve entered the cartel as a drug runner with Church. We’re “dating” because we don’t look enough alike to be siblings- and by that I mean I’m Hispanic. And he’s a pasty white boy. I don’t mind, really, but the room has been more tense than usual. I hope that will fade.

It’s pretty here, in a dirty, damp sort of way. Maybe after all this is said and done I’ll go on a vacation here to see the sights, without voices in my ear and the threat of terrorists over my head and cocaine in my pocket. Mom has always wanted to see London.

Church sleeps weirdly- on the edge of the bed, on his side, back ramrod straight with his arms out in front of him. Like he expects someone to be in his arms.

He just woke up.

 

June 13th (later) –

Church: “You still up?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Church: (sitting up, pulling his knees into his chest) “Couldn’t sleep?”

Me: “Yeah.”

We sat like that for a while. I wanted to ask questions, but I felt like if I pushed him too hard he’d clam up. So I waited.

Church: “Ilse? Can I ask you something?”

Me: “Sure.”

Church: “Everyone else uses first names when they refer to each other. Why don’t you?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Church: “Oh. Alright.”

I do know. I used to use first names. Until my old partner, Cassie, died. I liked her, a lot. More than friends, actually. She was short, narrow hips and wide shoulders, a cloud of fuzzy orange hair that always escaped from its braid by the end of the day, freckles covering her long thin nose, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She snorted when she laughed, and used too many hand gestures when she talked with her thick southern accent.

“Ilse,” she would say, “Someday soon you an’ I are gonna change the world.”

“Ilse,” she would say, “We’re gonna go travelin’ round the world together, when we end this dumb ass war. See the sights. Terrorize the locals. You can take me to your pretty lil’ New York and I’ll show you ‘round my Tennessee.”

“Ilse,” she said once, drunk, after we had completed our first mission. “I love you. Homophobes like my dad can eat my entire ass. I love you. Don’t evah change.”

One year ago I took her home to her Tennessee in a glossy black casket.

I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to get close enough to do that again. I don’t want to make someone do that. So if I distance myself, I won’t have to.

I should stop thinking about her before I fall apart again.

Me: “So, Church, You asked me a question, and I answered, so now do I get to ask you one?”

Church: “I wouldn’t say you answered it…”

Me: “Please?”

Church: (sighs wearily) “Fine.”

Me: “What’s your family like?”

Church: “We’re close. I have a brother and a sister.”

Me: “But you don’t write home to them?”

Church: “That’s two questions. They… Aren’t home anymore. They enlisted with me.”

Me: Oh.

Then he laid back down, said goodnight, and went to sleep. Are the people in the photos his brother and sister? They don’t look alike. He always seems to leave me more questions after he answers one.

Update in two days.

 

June 15th –

They’re moving us up the ranks quickly.

Chase: “This is going to be easier than we thought.”

Church: “Don’t get cocky. I’m worried- this is going too fast.”

Chase: “Shut up, kid. You might have been with Survey for three years, but you’ve never been on a mission. We’re just that good.”

Update whenever.

 

June 18th –

Church found out why they were supplying the Titans with money. They aren’t just supplying. They’re an offshoot of the Titans, this is how they get some of their money, selling drugs. Church’s become the carrier of their letters. He opened one, it’s from a guy named Grisha, and he’s a doctor, to someone called Ape. Ape seems to be their leader, from what we can tell. Thomas and his team are going over the photos of the letter that he took, decoding it. Thomas is speaking…

Thomas: “Oh _Christ_ on a _bike_.”

Brown: “What?”

Thomas: “…They’re trying to weaponize rabies.”

 ~~Farl~~ Church has his head in his hands. I think he’s… laughing?

Church: “I need a drink and a pack of cigarettes. This is… this is fucking bullshit, that’s what this is. People are so fucking sick. This is so messed up.”

Thomas: (sounding sickened, voice hushed) “It gets worse…”

Mason: (slightly hysterical) “Worse? How the ever loving fuck does it get worse?”

Thomas: “Grisha… The doctor… He’s been experimenting on his son.”

Church is laughing. It’s a sad and broken sound.

 

June 19th (24:00 hours) –

I had a panic attack. Church helped me calm down. He just left to get some tea- and some cigarettes, I think, because we can’t have alcohol. He lit a candle for me. The room smells like the ocean, and rain is coming in from the open window. It’s pitch black outside.

Everyone else is pretty shaken up. We all knew that the Titans were evil and uncaring and inhuman, but I don’t think anyone expected them to go to such lengths for power. Thomas’s joking and vaguely peppy demeanor has completely crumbled, I think he’s in shock. I feel bad for him. He was too soft and too happy for this job.

Cootes and Smith are talking about me. They’re in the room next to ours. They’ve taken their comms out, but they never talk quietly.

Cootes: “I’ve never heard her freak like that. Not since Cassie…”

Smith: “I know… (she says something here, but I can’t make it out) But then again, a weaponized form of rabies getting out there would be hell on earth… You’re from Hawaii, you have no clue what it’s like…”

Cootes is saying something that I can’t hear.

Smith: “Asher, hearing it ain’t the same as seeing it. I grew up in Arkansas. It starts out like the flu. Then you get disoriented, and then it goes two ways, you can become a violent sociopath thing that wants to infect everything else or fall into a coma and die. And hydrophobia sets in, you can’t drink, and your throat closes so you can’t swallow, and you foam at the mouth, you can’t string words together properly, and-”

Cootes: (cuts her off) “Jesus christ. They want to weaponize that? Holy fuck. That’d be like, a zombie apocalypse, some sort of World War Z shit. Damn.”

I have a feeling he crossed himself.

The door is opening- ~~Farlan~~ Church is back. Update soon.

 

June 19th (01:45)–

Church brought chamomile tea and a pack of cigarettes. He stayed up with me for a while, chain smoking by the open window as I drank my tea. When I finished, he asked me if I was feeling better.

Me: “Well, there’s a bunch of psychotic terrorists running around with the plans to weaponize a disease with a 99.9% mortality rate, and I’m supposed to go back to running drugs and making money for them tomorrow, so I’m feeling pretty damn good.”

He laughed.

Me: “Sorry. That was rude. I know what you mean. And yeah I am, thanks.”

Church: “Wasn’t that rude. It’s the truth. My brother used to drink tea. Mostly black tea though, but I figured that wouldn’t help.”

Me: “What’s your brother like?”

Church: (blows smoke out the window) “Short. Angry. Swears a lot. Can’t stand dirt. He used to whack me and my sister over our heads with a broom if we came in with muddy shoes. Likes to talk about shit, for whatever reason. Loves hard liquor, blackberry jam, tea, and punching people.”

Then he put out his cigarette and told me not to stay up too late writing. I don’t want to go back tomorrow. But I don’t really have a choice anymore.

Update whenever.

 

June 25th –

The Titans blew up a high school in the states yesterday. Survey managed to keep the media off of it by saying it was a gas leak.

23 kids and two teachers died. Seven more are severely injured. Three should be out of the hospital in a week.

Over twenty families looking for answers. Monsters. The Titans are all monsters.

 

 

June 30th –

I lost everything that I was carrying

Someone froma rival cartel mugged me he pressed a gun to my head and told me if I made a noise he’d shoot and he took it he took all of it I can’t believe I let him do it I should of fought back I should of done anything but he had a gun to my head and I couldn’t I just couldn’t

They had me “punish” a boy who had lost his product a few days ago I’ve been tryingso hard to forget it they did the same to me

They thought I had decided to keep it for myself they thought I had been sampling it and they beat me my ribs hurt so bad I cant breatheI can’t move my left arm I cant see out of my left eye I think im bleeding somewhere my shirt has red clouds on it I thought it was just white I taste metal and my nose is wet and sticky I stored my earbud in a alley a little ways away I don’t remember walking here I just told Farlan where I am and Thomas and everyone else theyre coming to help me theyre coming to he lp me please hurry


	2. June 30th - August 2nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for vomit, drug use, decapitation, ableist language, and all sorts of blood. if i've missed any triggers, let me know!
> 
> i really love writing Ilse, and i hope my characterization isn't off!
> 
> <3

June 30th (22:00) –

Im in a hospital! This is great! I thought I was dyng. But im not gonna !  Farlan is here, and so is everyone else. Apparently im on pain meds! I think that’s why im floating. Farlan is looking kinda worried, so I told him Im fine. I hope he cheers up soon. He’s trying to take my journal away from me because I need to rest, but I feel great. Hes being ridiculous. im not tired at ALL. He can be dumb sometimes, but he’s really reallly nice looking, so i forgive him. wow, Farlan is being really persistant about putting doun the journal. He’s got really nice eyes. Theyre really green, but kinda brown around the edges! He does his hair weird. It’s falling on the middle of his forehead, he must have a lot of cowlicks. It looks really soft though !  Peter Chase (what a dumb name) is trying to take the jornal. I growled at him and told him Cassie would let me keep the journal. Farlan is asking who Cassie is. Delilah Brown is a nice name for a nice person, and she’s taking him outside to talk to him about something. Kate Smith is going with them! Where is Cassie? She’s really pretty and would talk some sense into these losers. And maybe she would kiss me after she got them to leave! SHes a bit weird like that. Her dad doesn’t like it when she does it, and APPARENTLY republicans are mean to girls who like girls, isn’t that dumb? So she’s scared to kiss me when there are other people around. she says she still loves me though, so that’s good!

Pheonix Mason (They have a cool name, and an even cooler gender, what is it again? Neuton? Newtronsis? Neutrois, yeah, that’s it!) is telling me that Cassie isnt here at the moment, and im kinda confused abut that, Cassie is always here. Now theyre telling me to go to bed. Theyre a nerd and their face is kinda stubbly, I don’t think theyve shaved. I’m not gonna listen to them.

Im really glad im not gonna die. i really thought I was going to for some reason! death sounds boring. kinda mysterious though. Is death cold? Is death cuddly? What’s death like in bed? What do you even do when youre dead? Float there? Sounds dull. Oop, Farlan and Delilah are back! They look kinda sad.

Jacinda Peteonson (what a weird name, couldnint her parents just name her Jackie? Or have their last name be Peterson? Or both?! It makes more sense!) is telling me that i dont have a concussion now, but I will after she hits me with the IV pole to knock me out, so I guess I better go to bed. Jacinda is kinda mean sometimes! I’ll write more later!!

 

June 31st –

I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking truck.

Those were the first words out of my moth when I woke up. And Church laughed at me, what an asshole. Not just a little baby pickup truck either. A damn 18 wheeler. With ten inch spikes on the front bumper.

I have two cracked ribs, a black eye, my left arm is broken, a broken nose, a busted lip (I bit through it), and three stiches on the inside and three on the outside of my lip. I’m covered in bruises. I “fell down the stairs”. I’m still gonna go with my “hit by a truck” story. Maybe I can take my anger out on a truck later. With a sledgehammer. After I get this cast off, I hope.

Mason is all huffy.

Mason: “A nerd, huh? I’m a nerd, and stubbly, so you’re not gonna listen to me.”

Me: (voice scratchy) “What?”

Mason: “Humph!”

And now they’re crossing their arms and refusing to look at me. I want to whack them with my cast. It’s big and blue, and it’ll leave a nice big and blue mark on their head.

Peteonson is telling me to look at last night’s entry.

Oh god.

Oh god. Oh god oh god ohhh god.

Please kill me now. Call the mugger back, tell him he can shoot me now. Or call my bosses back and tell them that they need to finish the job. Please finish the job.

I asked Church what else I said.

Church: “You went through a phase where you kept asking me to take my shirt off. And then another where you asked me nonstop to take my pants off, so you could see if my dick was the same size as all the statues of the greek gods in the museums.”

Me: “Oh god.”

Church: “It would have been more insulting, but you were so out of it, it was flat out hilarious.”

Me: “Oh my god.”

Church: “You growled at Peter whenever he got too close to your notebook. You sounded like a strangled Pomeranian. You kept talking about our names, Jacinda and Peter are a bit offended, actually. And you were very confused as to why my hair flops onto my forehead rather than sticking straight up like a porcupine or something.”

Me: “I am so, so, so sorry.”

Church: “And then you asked everyone what having sex with death is like.”

Me: “ _Sweet baby Jesus_.”

And then he’s laughing again, what a fucking asshole.

Update whenever. Please, someone, take this damn cast off my arm. It’s already itchy.

 

July 4th –

Happy birthday, America. May your sexism, racism, homophobia, and transphobia live ever onward, in the name of "freedom". America, you’ve got a lot to work on.

Thomas has finally stopped talking to us all the time, and now we get to listen to military radio chatter unless he has something to tell us.

The Military Police have a new commander- a man named Nile Dawk. Medium height, reedy build, shitty haircut and narrow face, complete with a hooked nose, hooded eyes, and jutting cheekbones. His resumè is full of ass kissing and shining recommendations from people who accept bribes. I hope he enjoys his new, overpaid, cushy life, while we all hunker down out here and risk our asses all while getting paid next to nothing.

We have also gotten a new commander, after Commander Portland died of a heart attack. Our new commander is a man named Erwin Smith. Thomas has reported him as “tall, buff, blond, and handsome. Glorious cheekbones. But his hair looks like a shitty toupee. And he has massive eyebrows. Like, I think he taped pancakes to his face.” Chatter on the radio waves says the same, but apparently he’s also ruthless, cunning, and cold. Everyone’s asking if he’s single, despite relationships being forbidden. Hell, even the Garrison, the general police force, has a new commander, Rico Brzenska. Commander Eason was declared unfit to work, after he had seven innocent kids shot, despite getting orders from above not to fire and Rico’s attempts to hold him back. Apparently she’s nursing a split lip, concussion, and a nasty looking shiner for her efforts. I’ve met Rico. She’ll be a fantastic commander.

Updates as they come.

 

 

July 10th –

We haven’t been making much progress; my mugging set us back a notch, and nothing Church has opened has been worthwhile. Mostly delivery times and requests for shipments, which we hand off to special ops, and they (and by they, I mean Erwin Smith, Rico Brzenska (she’s the captain of the special ops branch as well as the Garrison Wing commander, she’s such a fucking impressive woman, and if I had any desire to have control over people I would strive to be just like her), and a small group of advisers) decide which ones to hit and how many we can before we tip the Titans off that something’s up.

Church has been off lately. He wasn’t a big talker in the first place, but now, unless it’s to tell us that he thinks our mission has been going too smoothly and too quickly, he rarely speaks at all. Chase has been rolling his eyes and mocking him. And I’m actually inclined to agree with Chase. Our tech has been getting better, we’re closer to the heart of the Titans than we’ve ever been before, and honestly, sometimes I want to whack Church with my cast to remind him that it hasn’t exactly all been smooth sailing. Smith is calling his nerves “first mission jitters”.

Once or twice I’ve woken up to see him standing by the window, blowing smoke out into the cool night air. Other than his lips and the steady rise and fall of his chest, he doesn’t move. Smoking those damn things will kill him one day, I’m certain, if this job doesn’t kill us first.

Church isn’t so skeletal anymore, he’s put on a thin layer of fat and more muscles. He looks older, but he still seems too young. He can’t be 21, no damn way. I’ll have to ask him how old he really is sometime. Maybe I’ll get a straight answer out of him for once.

Updates as they come.

 

July 16th (00:00)–

Church came in a few moments ago, blood splattered on his face and his hands, shaking from head to toe. “I killed someone.” He said, “They made me kill someone.” He pulled off his sweatshirt and there was more blood on his shirt, then he went into the bathroom and I haven’t seen him since. The water is running in the bathroom. Brown wants to go check on him, but I told her to stay where she is. I’m going to talk to him now.

 

July 16th (02:00) –

When I went into the bathroom ~~Farlan~~ Church was standing in front of the mirror, hands braced on either side of the sink, tinted pink water dripping down his face. I stood behind him, off to the side, and waited for him to speak.

Church: “This isn’t how cartels are run.”

Me: “What?”

Church: “If you wanted to effectively run an illegal operation such as a cartel, you don’t send one of your newer runners to kill someone. Ever. The risk that they’ll run off and not complete the task is too high. You have enforcers to do your dirty work. You don’t use new runners to kill.”

Me: “Church, if this is about how you think that our cover is blown-“

He slammed his hands onto the counter and laughed.

Church: “You don’t believe me, do you?! I knew it! No one around here thinks that I know what I’m doing or saying. I don’t say anything that isn’t backed up by facts, and I weigh every single damn word before I use it. And you all think I’m crazy! You all think it’s just ‘first mission jitters’ and you call me ‘Kid’ like I don’t know anything! I know how things like this go down. You get too arrogant, think that you’re on top of the world, start making bolder and riskier moves, and then you fall. And when you think you’re at the top, it is a long fucking way down to the bottom.”

He sighed heavily and splashed his face with water again.

“He was only fifteen…” Church whispered. “Just fifteen. He wasn’t with the Titans. Just a kid who got turned around and couldn’t find a way out.” Then he locked eyes with me in the mirror.

“Have you killed anyone before?”

I have.

“Does it get easier? Do you ever stop feeling guilty?

 Eventually.

We burned his clothes in the sink and he took a shower. He’s lying on his bed now, curled into a ball, trembling. I don’t think either of us are going to sleep tonight.

Updates as they come.

 

July 21st –

We’ve been bumped up to enforcers. Or, everyone except me. The bosses trust in me has all but vanished after my mugging, and now I get the smallest and least expensive packages to carry. Even Brown got promoted, and she was the last and least threatening of us to enter. Although now even Mason is scared of her, the girl likes her knives. A lot. She’s a chubby girl, with curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a button nose, and yet when she picks one up she looks like she could rip out your jugular. With her teeth. Her change in demeanor is frightening.

I’m attempting to hunt down the man who mugged me from the rival cartel. No really solid leads so far, but I met a woman who looks like my grandmother, and she says she saw a man who looked like the guy I described to her on the night I was mugged while she was letting her cat out.

Church is still shaken up. And he still says that the operation is moving too quickly. Brown and Mason used to tell him that it was going fine and that we were safe, but now they just ignore him. I’ve even caught Mason rolling their eyes. Chase and Peteonson often compare notes on easier ways to break bones and body counts, which is disturbing. Church caught them at it two days ago:

Church: “That’s disgusting. Those are real people that you’re hurting. This isn’t a video game.”

Peteonson: “We just want to be efficient.”

Church: “How is counting the number of people you’ve hurt and how many you’ve murdered being efficient?!”

Chase: (glares at him) “Dude, we’re just doing our jobs. We should be able to talk about it. If you keep being so hesitant about it, you’re gonna blow our cover. Besides, it’s just the dregs of society, no one will miss them.”

Church looked a bit weird then, kind of like he wanted to cry and punch both of them in the face. He dug his nails into his thighs and squeezed his eyes shut, then set his fists down on the table and leaned close to them.

Church: “Of course! The “dregs of society” can’t have friends or families, right? No way could the prostitute you just slaughtered have a son! No way that that stripper you just beat within an inch of their life have a brother or a sister! And of course, having one scrap of humanity and empathy might make them realize that I’m secretly a government agent! Disgusting, you two are disgusting.”

Then he left. Peteonson ran out after him, and when she came back she was very subdued. Chase has pointedly not looked at or spoken directly to Church since. Chase’s hot head and thick skull are going to get him killed someday, I bet.

I asked Peteonson what Church said to her later and she just shook her head. “He’ll tell you when he tells you.” She said.

I wish Church would stop trying to create friction. We get that his gut tells him that something about this is off, but starting shit with Chase is the number one way to get yourself punched. Not for the first time, I wish Backman was here. He knew how to keep Chase contained, and he would know how to sort Church out. I can’t blame him for retiring though, four years working with Survey and I already want to retire, I can’t imagine going through ten.

Church just woke up. He just told me that I should be sleeping, and I told him he should be too. He shrugged, and now he’s smoking by the window. His bed head is ridiculous. I want to talk to him. Update soon.

 

July 21st (23:30) –

Me: (joins him by the window) “Those things will kill you someday, you know.”

Church: “Yeah. I never used to smoke so much. My sister used to almost crawl up my ass if she found me smoking. It's a shitty habit, and they smell terrible." He sighs and takes another drag. "She did it with our brother too, but that never stopped him.”

Me: “What is your sister like?”

He smiled, and it wasn’t as bright as it was in the photos, but it was still there.

Church: “She’s pretty short too. Shorter than my brother, which pissed her off endlessly. She swears some too, she turns into a sailor when she’s mad. She’s a daredevil, if there’s some risk to something, of broken bones, betting arrested, death, she’d be the first in line to try it out. She could never sit still, our brother gave her a stress ball once and she popped it the day after she got it. Her attention span is nil unless it’s something that she’s interested in, and then she hyper focuses and it’s impossible to get her away from it. She had this odd affinity for dying the tips of her hair crazy colors, but her hair is naturally red, so it never really matched. It was bubblegum pink when we joined Survey, and she cried when they made her cut it off.”

Me: “You never told me what their names are…”

Church: (blows smoke out the window, goes quiet for a moment) “Oh. Sorry. Isabel and Levi.”

Me: “You talk about them in your sleep.”

Church: “I do? Jesus. That’s embarrassing.”

I asked him if he had any photos of them and he went still. I was about to apologize for asking when he said “Fuck it,” and smashed his cigarette out on the sill. He pulled the photos out of his drawer.

Church: “This was from a while ago. Levi’s the tiny vampire- his hair is much shorter now.”

I told him they don’t look anything alike and he laughed and told me that they technically aren’t related by blood. Then he tucked the photos away again and told me that I needed to get more sleep.

He’s snoring softly now. He looked much happier than I’ve ever seen him.

Updates as they come.

 

July 30th –

I found him. I fucking found him. I finally found the guy who mugged me. His name is Timothy Reynolds and I’m going to bring his head on a stick to my bosses. I’m going to rip him apart.

Smith is worried about me. Told me not to get careless. She doesn’t want me to be arrested and be slammed in jail for murder. Church told me that I’m not thinking clearly and that I don’t want to start shit with rival cartels. My head is perfectly damn clear. I’m not careless, I just can’t wait to get my hands on his putrid neck.

 

August 1st –

I killed him. I didn’t mean to. I mean, I did, but I… I smashed his skull in. Then I cut his head off and set it on a table in front of my bosses, along with all the product he was carrying. They were pleased.

That’s when it hit me.

I pleased the titans.

I’ve been vomiting in the bathroom for twenty minutes now. I pleased the Titans. They’re happy with me. They’ve killed thousands. They’ve killed little kids. And I… I made them happy. I killed someone and I was happy to do it. I was looking forward to it.

Am I a monster?

Am I any better than them? What’s the difference between them and Survey? We’re both killing people, running drugs, and ruining lives. We’re just doing so for “the good of humanity” and “to destroy the Titans”. What are they doing it for? Money? Recognition? Power? Religion? Just for the hell of it? Have we ever bothered to ask?

Church has been knocking on the door. He wants to know if I want to talk, or have some tea, or something. I don’t think I can stomach anything right now. Brown is here too. As squad leader, she has an obligation to check in on her soldiers. Or does she care? I’ve seen her holding those knives. I guess she looks like what I must have looked like when I went at Timothy with that hammer. Angry, but not the hot kind, the slow, ice cold anger that builds at your fingertips and spreads though your veins until it fills your body and pools behind your eyes and at the base of your spine. The deadly anger. The dangerous anger.

Peteonson is here too. We haven’t talked much recently, probably because Chase follows her around like a lost dog, and Church and I are “dating”, but Chase and Church can’t be in the same room without almost coming to blows. I should… I should go out and talk to them. But I’m going to get the blood and bits of brains off my hands first.

 

August 2nd (03:17) –

Brown helped me clean up. Church made tea. Peteonson rubbed my back. Then we talked.

Me: (to Brown) “How do you do it? How do you manage to kill them without breaking down like this? I mean, I used to be able to, but I don’t know what I did to stop.”

Brown: “Just think of them as animals. They have three basic drives; fear, anger, and hunger. Don’t even think for a moment that they might have anything else. They’re animals.”

Peteonson: “… Sometimes I think of it as a first person shooter game. I used to play them a lot before I joined Survey. Like, they’re just computer generated opponents. Robots.”

I asked Church what he did, and he shrugged. “I still haven’t managed to completely turn it off.” He said.

I don’t feel so guilty anymore.

Updates as they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is appreciated!!!


	3. August 2nd - August 11th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u listen closely u can hear me laughing  
> i love my oc's  
> Farlan is a little shit  
> the new OVA is fantastic and i am dead.  
> Please enjoy

August 7th –

Ape is coming. Ape will be here tomorrow. Finally one of the letters the Church opened had news.

It would take too long to get the information to the commander, and even longer to have him talk it out with Commander Brzenska and the advisors, so Brown made the decision. We’re going after him. Dead or alive. We’re taking him out.

Church went at it again. “Why the hell would they send such an important message through a runner? And what are the chances of said runner being me? When the head honcho is coming to town, you don’t send word by runners, you call your correspondent up or you go and tell them face to face!”

Cootes asked him very politely to shut the hell up. Chase was about to say something that would of undoubtedly started a fistfight when Brown pulled out one of her knives and started polishing it. Neither of them spoke a word after that.

Ape will be in an abandoned warehouse at 19:00 tomorrow. We’re entering from the back and getting rid of whatever is in there. Smith didn’t want me to come along, because with my cast I’m not a full strength. I blew her off. There’s no damn way I’m missing this.

Church stopped me right as we entered our room.

Church: “Look, I know I’ve never given anyone here a reason to trust me. I mean, I came in right as your old leader retired, so bad vibes there, and you know next to nothing about me. But we’re teammates, and when no one will even listen to me… We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, Ilse. And I don’t think we do.”

He’s asleep now, in that weird position of his. I hope tomorrow goes well and we prove him wrong. Update soon.

 

August 8th –

I’m writing this on a plane, heading back to the European Survey base.

We fucked up. We fucked up big time.

We entered as planned, after watching a troop of people entering the building. We killed them all, and then Chase checked in his mark’s pockets.

Chase: “Oh motherfucking bloody _shit_.”

Smith: “Oh _christ_ , what? Don’t just fucking say things like that, Peter!”

Chase: “This one has a Military Police badge.”

Church: (shakes his head slowly, almost smiling) “Oh god. Have we been set up?”

Chase: “Shut your goddamn mouth, Farlan. Just because he has a badge doesn’t mean that he’s legit.”

Mason: (jogs over to Chase and grabs the badge, switches on his earpiece) “Thomas! Is Jason Teed a member of the MP? Badge number 90083456.”

Thomas: “Uhhh, yeah, Jason Teed, older guy, kinda beefy lookin, salt and pepper hair, Black, big scar down the left cheek-”

Mason: (switches off his comms again) “Well fuck me.”

We were idiots, and only just then did we realize that this was clearly an MP base, covered in computers and evidence, guns and explosives packed into neat boxes along the walls.

They were all MP. Church looked like he was exhausted. Smith announced that she was retiring. “Gonna go home, marry my girlfriend,” she said, “Then we’re gonna avoid the entirety of the MP trying to crawl up my asshole and shoot me to death from the inside out. Oh god.”

Not even Church looked like he wanted to acknowledge that he was right. Then we all got a text.

“Job in district 14. Pack light. Pick up at 4 o’clock sharp, other details upon arrival.”

Church: “Willing to believe me when I say that this is a set-up?”

Peteonson: “Oh for christ’s sakes.”

Smith: “Let’s just call for an emergency retrieval. Shit, let’s just fuckin’ get out of here.”

Brown: (shaking like a leaf, pacing and pulling at her hair) “No, we can’t.”

Chase: (sounding panicked) “Why the hell not?!”

Brown: “Because! We just killed people who are technically our superiors! This could be seen as terrorism! They could accuse us of joining the Titans! This is treason!! They could kill us! They could put us in front of a firing squad! We just killed fucking Military Police, and we’ve done no good work here! None! The shit about weaponizing rabies, that shit is discredited, because we have no idea how long they’ve been onto us, and if it’s as long as Farlan says they have, then we’re fucked up the ass with barbed wire. We have to redeem ourselves in some way! We can’t just go back!”

 ~~Farlan~~ Church: “The thing about rabies isn’t bullshit.”

Brown: (whirls to face him) “What?!”

Church: “It’s not. Have you even been listening to the radio chatter? They’ve found out more about it.”

Brown: (squeaking) “Great! Fantastic! Now we know for sure that a terrorist organization is trying to turn kill everyone in one of the most horrific ways possible! Great! So good to kn-“

Church: “Delilah, you’re our squad leader. We trust you. But right now you’re panicking. Take a few deep breaths.”

She complied, and when she spoke again, she was much calmer.

Brown: “Alright. We’ve got five hours before they come hunting us down and we have to pull out and be killed by our government. Anyone got anything we can do to redeem ourselves so maybe we don’t get our heads blown off?”

Church: “I have an idea, if anyone wants to listen.”

We set fire to the warehouse, which Chase was more than happy to do. (“Bit of a pyromaniac, ain’t he?” said Smith, as he struck a match with a grin.) Mason had done research on where rival cartels were, and we sent out a message to all of them about the location, stuck around until we heard gunfire, then called in a retrevial. As we boarded the plane Farlan grabbed my hand, and he hasn’t let go of it since then, an hour ago. It’s made it rather hard to write this, actually. But he fell asleep just before I took my journal out, and I didn’t want to disturb him. It’s been a while since he’s slept. He looks even younger when he’s asleep. I thought Petonson and Chase had fallen asleep, but Peteonson has one eye open and she’s watching him, their arms thrown around each other, Chase’s head resting on her shoulder. He’s definitely asleep, he’s drooling on her collar. ~~Phoenix~~ Mason is on their third cup of coffee, Brown is on her sixth. Smith is staring out the window blankly. The plane is surprisingly posh- the first retrieval plane I was ever on couldn’t’ve been up to code, it rattled and quivered and coughed like a smoker the whole way to the base. I still have nightmares about that plane sometimes, about the engines dying, or it falling apart, bit by bit, until the wings fall off and we drop out of the air like a stone to crash into the woods below.

The report is gonna be a pain in the fucking ass to write up, it’ll take eight hours at least. I’ll probably get carpal tunnel sooner than I would if I had taken a damn office job. I should’ve gotten a damn office job.

We’re all too young to be this jaded.

I wonder if Church ever regrets joining the military.

I know I do.

 

August 9th –

Church doesn’t have anyone to go home to. I was hesitant, because it’s my time with my family, but when it became clear that no one else was offering, I invited him home with me.

I’m doing my best not to get too attached, but damn it, it’s hard.

We got to call home today. Mom says that it’s fine if he comes home with me, that the house she just moved into has a spare bedroom for him- as long as he can cook, deal with the four cats, and my three little siblings. She sounded so happy- I missed hearing her voice so much. And now I’ll have a week with her, Maybel, Porter, and Aaren. And Church. I told him about my siblings, the cats, and that he needed to be able to cook (because I can cook without burning anything or making it look terrible, but… I always put too much of something in it. Pepper, salt, whatever, it always ends up tasting like crap or burning people’s mouths.), and he smiled. He says he thinks he’ll be able to do that. I hope so, it will take pressure off of me to cook. Also, he likes cats.

 

I’m going to be jetlagged as hell tomorrow. I can’t wait to see my family today. And Mum’s new house is near the ocean. I wonder if Church has ever been to the beach.

 

August 10th –

I’ve cried ten times today. Happy tears, all of them. Mom has gained a few grey hairs but she’s as radiant as ever, and when we met up in the airport she physically picked me up and kissed both of my cheeks.

Then she scolded me, loudly and aggressively, in front of the entire airport, for getting my arm broken.

Porter has stopped cutting his hair. It’s so long now, and curly, like Dad’s is. He has Mom’s freckles though, and her tall, broad shouldered body. He’s so gangly, are sixteen year olds always so stretched out? He has another new boyfriend, who I have to meet. Hopefully he won’t stink of sweat and failure wrapped in a leather jacket like the last two. And if he smokes like the first one I swear to god I will kick his ass, Porter’s asthma flares up at the slightest hint of smoke. I need to pound some survival instincts into the kid.

Maybel has the most adorable cherub cheeks I’ve ever seen - more suited to a three year old instead of a kid going into second grade. Her favorite color is pink now, she’s dressed in frilly neon lace and bright light up sneakers, coupled with those hair elastics with the plastic balls that snap against your head hard enough to leave dents in your skull. (I’m pretty sure I still have dents from them, actually.) She told me that ten months was far too long and made me promise I’d never stay away so long again. God, I hope I don’t have to.

And then, Aaren. She’s gotten so snarky, it’s like she’s been taking lessons from Peteonson or Smith. She’s also become the epitome of punk; her hair is shaved into a Mohawk and dyed an electric green, and I peeked into her closet and it’s all band tees and ripped black skinny jeans. She doodled a tiny dick on the upper part of my cast and made me promise I wouldn’t let Mom see it. Every time I see it I laugh, so I don’t think I’ll rat her out.

The new house is great, honestly. There would be enough bedrooms for all of us if Church weren’t here, so we’re sharing the guest bedroom. Mom is making me sleep on an air mattress so our guest can have the bed, despite his protests.

“I’ve slept on far worse, Ma’am, really, I can sleep on the floor.” He said. Mom whacked him on the shoulder with her wooden spoon (spraying flour all over his shirt) and told him that he’s our guest and that if he ever called her ma’am again she’d make him sleep on the street. His squeaky “sorry ma’am” was automatic, I’m sure, but it still got him the stink-eye.

Dinner was hectic as usual, and when Aaren caught on that I was side-eyeing her new style she let it slip that I used to be pastel goth.

Farlan made a noise akin to the dying cat. Apparently his brother was a pastel goth for a short amount of time. He wants to see some of the clothes that I have. I shoved the boxes they were in farther back into the closet and will be burning them as soon as possible.  

With any luck, we can all forget that they ever existed.

I am utterly exhausted. Farlan fell asleep the second he hit the bed. I’m not even sure he’s under the blankets. And I’ve got two of the cats, Princess and Minnie, snuggling me. Time for bed.

Update tomorrow.

 

August 11th –

Got the cast cut off finally. If it had been on any longer I would have cut it off myself.

We went to the ocean today. It was, and I quote “hot as balls” according to Aaren. She and Porter got into an Android vs. iPhone fight that lasted all day, and will not be resolved in any foreseeable future. According to Mom, they’ve been at it all summer.

Maybel really loves the beach. Mostly the shells, she brought three bucketful’s home. Mom told her only one, but she’s got those big brown puppy eyes that you just can’t say no to.

Farlan was a huge wimp about how cold the ocean was. He was so excited to see the ocean, but the instant he set foot in it, he shrieked like a three year old and ran up onto dry land, hollering about how cold it was.

I ended up picking him up and dropping him in.

Farlan: “Ilse, what are you – oh fuck no Ilse don’t you dare Ilse I swear to GOD if you do what I think you’re gonna do I will kick your – NO PLEASE please please I’m begging don’t-”

He said several words that even I won’t repeat when I dropped him.

Then he grabbed my ankle and hauled me under with him.

He helped Maybel build sandcastles, and she rode on his shoulders when she was too tired to walk as we left the boardwalk because mine were sore. We met Porter’s new boyfriend there, his name is Hunter, and he is, of course, sweat and failure wrapped in a leather jacket. Emphasis on the word ‘sweat’. Seriously, who would even wear a leather jacket and pants in hundred degree heat? He’s going to get heatstroke. He was polite enough though, and he doesn’t smoke, so instead of kicking his ass I settled for terrifying him a little. The piss wasn’t even that noticeable. But he certainly won’t break Porter’s heart anytime soon.

The cats seem to have claimed Farlan as one of their own, judging by the way they’re all piled onto his bed. I would help pull some of them off so he can breathe and move, but I’m too tired. He’ll have to shove them off in the morning.

He got very nervous around the middle of our boardwalk trip, ducking around people and jumping whenever someone spoke to him. He said that he just ‘hasn’t been around this many people in a while’, which is bullshit, because London was a hell of a lot more crowded than the boardwalk. I decided not to tell him that. He’ll tell me why if he wants to.

Update tomorrow.


	4. August 12th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first things first: it's been a year and i edited a LOT so i suggest you reread the earlier chapters.
> 
> second things second: this is a short chapter and i know its literally been a year but plese just take this and ill tey not to take so FUCKING LONG next time
> 
> Also: cw for discussion of torture, drug use/overdose, mentions of panic attacks, and parental death

August 12th –

Church did not, in fact, shove off the cats. He’s a giant wimp.

I woke up at ten, and he was still in bed. He whispered “Help me” the instant I stood up, because he was too afraid to move the cats, even when Princess put her ass in his face. Said that “they were too peaceful and happy” for him to disturb them. I called him weak and shoved them all off. “You’re a _terrible_ pet mother!” he said.

Me: “Like you would be any better! You’ve never even had a pet!”

Church: “We had pets! Of some sort! Rescued pigeons and birds!”

Me: “Anything larger than a rat?”

Church: (shudders) “Your pet store type of rats or the rats in Tristesse?”

We didn’t get to discuss Tristesse rats, because then Aaren came in and told us that Mom wants us to stop lounging around (‘making out’, Aaren said, actually, although that is _not_ what mom said. Church made a face. Rude. He’d be lucky to kiss me.) And get our asses out here so we could eat breakfast and go to the library.

I picked up a few books (of which I will have the time to read maybe part of one before we go) before I noticed that Church looked lost.

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Church: (jumps slightly, takes a step back from the shelf he had been squinting at) “Nothing. Don’t know what to choose, that’s all.”

I pulled out several ones that I thought he would enjoy, and he looked strained, but accepted them anyway and thanked me. He’s _literally a spy_ , you would think he’d have a better poker face. I asked him what was wrong and told him we didn’t have to get the books if he didn’t want them.

Church: “That’s not… I didn’t… Never mind. ‘M just not very big on reading.”

Me: “I get the feeling that’s not even half of it.”

He shrugged. I said that we could talk about it later if he wanted to. He shrugged again. He got the books anyway.

Or, he would have. Halfway to the checkout he and I noticed a man having trouble. We went over to him and asked if he needed help, and just as we realized he was clutching his left arm, he fell over.

I ordered Church to get the AED off the wall while I started compressions. He did, but upon opening up the manual he froze, rapidly turning red, so I told him to do CPR while I operated the AED, and we swapped places.

The ambulance arrived three minutes later, and ~~Farla~~ Church high-tailed it back to the car, and wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone.

So, of course, the instant we were alone, I cornered him.

Me: “Farlan. You froze back there. Why?”

Church: (Whirls around to face me, eyes wide) “Why does it matter?”

Me: “Because if you do that when we’re on assignment, people will die! Lots of people will die, and you will die. I won’t be able to cover your ass like I did if you freeze and blow our cover. So I need to know, right now, what exactly made you freeze like that, so I can help train it out of you so when we need you, you can deliver!”

He turned red and looked down at his feet, shoulders creeping up by his ears, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t apologize for being harsh. I know firsthand what happens when you freeze. People like Cassie _die_. He can handle some hurt pride.

Just when I was about to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere until he talked to me, he spoke again, albeit so quietly I had to move closer to hear him.

Church: “I can’t read like you can.”

Me: “What?”

Church: “I mean, I can read! But not when I need to hurry. The letters don’t… Line up like they should, and it gets worse when there’s pressure…”

Me: “Are you dyslexic?”

I didn’t think it was possible for him to get any more red, or speak any softer, but he did, and he did.

Church: “I don’t even know what that means.”

Me: “Hey, look at me, ok? Don’t be embarrassed, it’s fine. You just need a little bit more help, that’s all. I dunno how you got through school without anybody realizing this, but you’re probably dyslexic, which just means it’s harder for you to read and write and stuff, it doesn’t mean you’re not smart. Honestly, how did no teacher catch that? It probably would have saved you a lot of stress.”

Church: “What makes you think that I went to school?”

That threw me for a little bit of a loop.

Me: “Farlan, you literally cannot join Survey without a high school diploma.”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged, then told me he didn’t join via the usual channels. Before I could ask what the ever loving fuck he meant by that, Maybel burst into our room to show us a picture she had drawn, and I had to settle for giving him a “we’ll talk about this later” look.

The picture she drew is adorable. I’m standing on a bad guy with a nice purple crown on my head, waving a flag with the Survey insignia on it. It’s beautiful. I cried a little and folded it and stapled it into the back of my journal. She said she would draw another picture for Church.

After lunch the Android vs. iPhone war continued, but the words “You look like you’re holding a literal flat screen to your head” with the following “at least it’s not a _cracked_ flat screen” seem to be fighting words, because within seconds Porter and Aaren were wrestling and yelling insults. I picked up a few creative ones. “You’re the human embodiment of missing a step on the stairs!” is my favorite, thank you Aaren. Church and I were in the middle of making bets on who would win when Mom came in and broke them up.

“You’re supposed to be the responsible one Ilse!” She said, shaking her head. “That means you _diffuse_ fights, not _bet_ on them!” Then she and gave us all a proper yell in Spanish, presumably so Church wouldn’t know what she said. I’m fairly sure he understands Spanish though, so no such luck on that front.

Church avoided me for the rest of the day, and now I’m positive he’s faking being asleep. Or maybe he’s actually asleep, but either way, I don’t care. “Not joining via the usual channels” means “I’m a plant from the Titans” to me, and fuck me if I’m letting that slide. I’ll kill him right where he is, damn him.

 

August 12th (23:59)–

I don’t even know where to begin with this mess. I was right, though. Farlan was a street kid.

Me: (Grabs him by both wrists and pins him to the bed, straddling his chest, growls in his face) “Church. I know you’re not asleep, and even if you are, _wake the fuck up_. You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

Farlan: (tries to pull away, eyes wide) “Holy fuck Ilse! What the hell?! Lemme go!”

Me: “To me, “not joining Survey via usual channels” means “I’m a fucking plant from the Titans”, you jackass. If you’re working for the Titans, I will kill you right now. I’ll snap your fucking neck.”

Farlan: (Tries to buck me off, whimpers when I knee him in the ribs) “I’m not working for the fucking Titans! Jesus Christ Ilse!”

Me: “Keep your fucking voice down. And really? Why should I believe that? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, boy.”

Farlan: “Holy shit, I’m not a Titan! Don’t kill me, please!”

Me: (Digging my nails into his wrists) “How can I be sure? You’re in _my_ home, with my _family_ , and I’d kill the goddamn president to keep them safe, killing you wouldn’t be a fucking problem. Start explaining, right _fucking_ now.”

Farlan: “I’m not with the Titans! Good god! I’ll explain! Just let me _breathe_ a little!”

I let him.

Farlan: “I'm gonna start from the beginning, and you can kill me after, ok? My mom died when I was ten. Overdosed. She was a sex worker, and that’s kind of just how it goes in Tristesse. You’re a drug dealer, a thief, or a sex worker. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just… How it is. But she had tried to shelter me and keep me away from all that, so when she died, I didn’t have any survival skills. I was drinking sewer water and dumpster diving for weeks. I was half dead when I found Levi. I tried to steal the bag he was holding, I figured that even if it wasn’t food it was something I could probably trade for food, but I only made it about two steps before he grabbed me. I thought he was going to kill me, honestly. But instead he just… Shook me. And I remember exactly what he said. ‘Goddamn brat. If you’re gonna steal my fucking shit, steal it fucking properly! That was pathetic. Try again.’”

I shook my head and let him sit up, but I still kept my hands on his wrists.

Farlan: “It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn’t kidding, and he spent four months teaching me how to properly steal someone’s bad, or purse, or wallet, or whatever they had on them. And I ended up just not leaving his side. We found Isabel about a year later, she came bursting in through our front door holding a pigeon with a broken wing while some assholes who had been harassing her hollered after her. She told us… She told us that she had seen us stealing from bad people “robinhood” style, and she figured we were cool and would help her. Levi called her a brat, and she was _so_ indignant, good god, I thought she was funny as hell. She was so nervous, though, for a good two years she would flinch if we raised our voices or moved too quickly, so we knew she had come from a bad place. She never told us about it though, and we only asked once.

Me: “What happened?”

Farlan: “She had a panic attack. So we didn’t ask again. Knew it was bad, left it at that. Same thing with Levi, so we just… Didn’t talk about the past. Decided to leave it buried. But after we were together for a couple of years, we got a reputation. Which is both a good and a bad thing, fewer people tried to steal from us and more people came to us with jobs, ‘steal this, teach that person a lesson’ etc., however, more punks tried to beat us up for bragging rights. Never went too well for ‘em. But then we started getting bigger jobs, better paying ones, more dangerous things. I mean, looking back on it, we weren’t paid that much, but it wasn’t like we could tell that the things we were doing for two hundred bucks most people wouldn’t do for two thousand. Scary, scary people would come to us. We were breaking into government buildings and big businesses, stealing government documents and patents with the codes they gave us. Somewhere along the line we must have caught Survey’s notice, I’d imagine. But the last job we did, we were offered 1.5 million to kill someone. And we accepted it. I mean, what else were we supposed to do? When you’ve been starving all your life, you take what you can get, and that’s a lot of money.”

Me: “You killed someone. Church, you were so goddamn freaked out about killing that kid in London-”

Farlan: “I didn’t kill the guy, Levi did. He refused to let either of us do it. So we broke into his apartment, and while Levi killed him, we found the documents we were supposed to steal and then got out of there.”

Me: “This still isn’t telling me how you got into Survey.”

Farlan: “I’m getting to that, sorry. But we spent three days on the run, and we thought we had gotten away with it. The news reported it as a robbery gone wrong, and they said all the right keywords to mean ‘we have no idea who did this’ without sending everyone in a mass panic, so we thought we were _safe_. We went back to our place to grab the rest of our things, and that’s when Erwin caught us.”

Me: “Erwin? As in Commander Erwin Smith?”

Farlan: “Well, he was a Colonel with the Special Ops division back then, they don’t send Commanders after street rats, but yeah, same guy. We spotted his squad tailing us almost instantly, but they weren’t really trying to hide it, which is always a bad sign. We tried to run, but they kept catching up to us, so we split up to make it harder. Not that it mattered. They grabbed us anyways. This girl cornered me in an alley, she had a knife, I think she was only supposed to threaten me with it, but when I tried to fight her off she panicked and tried to stab me. But I had sidestepped at the last second though, so the blade just sliced through the muscle on my side between my rib and hipbone rather than skewering my intestines. Then she cuffed me and half dragged me to a warehouse where Levi already was. Isabel was making such a racket when they brought her in, hollering and cussing and kicking, I was almost surprised that no one came to see what was happening.”

Somewhere along the line, my hold on his wrists had become less restraining and more comforting.

Farlan: “And then after we got Isabel to shut up, Erwin told us that we were good. That he _liked_ us. And he said that we were good, but not the best, and that Survey could use people with our skills, and help us become the best. But then he says that the Military Police wanted us too, because that was their guy Levi had killed, but they didn’t want to put us to work. He told us that we had a choice: join Survey, or they hand us off to the MP. And I mean, I was ready to say yes!”

He broke off with a soft laugh and ducked his head away from me.

Farlan: “I was ready and willing to join Survey, I don’t want to die! But then Levi told Erwin to go fuck himself, because he _loathes_ alpha male types like Erwin, and he told me later that he wanted to see how bad they wanted us. And when push comes to shove, we always would go where Levi went, I mean, he was our _brother_. You’d follow your siblings to the end of the earth, and we’d do the same. But then Erwin and two of the others took out lighters-”

His voice cracked there, and I didn’t know how to show him that I cared, that he was allowed to cry, so I moved my hands from his wrists to his hands and ran my thumbs across his knuckles.

 Farlan: (Steadfastly looking away from me) “I cracked first. I just… couldn’t take the pain while knowing I could do something to stop it. Isabel told them she’d join next, but Levi just… wouldn’t. He was _laughing_ at them, telling them that he’s felt worse, even as he screamed, asking them if they were regretting having to get dirty with us gutter rats… He asked them if they had ever really _starved_ before. And we just had to watch them hurt him, and we couldn’t stop it. But he broke when they threatened to start hurting us again. So they shoved us all in a van and carted us off. And then two weeks later they separated us, and I… Ended up with you.”

And then he looked at me and asked me if I was still going to break his neck.

I didn’t.

I would have though, if he hadn’t told me that story.

Update tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE leave feedback im not very happy with this chapter

**Author's Note:**

> please leave feedback/kudos, if you would like!


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